


Lavender and Vanilla and Copper

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Series: Laflams Alex is ignored [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Allusions to Sexual Abuse, Angst, Character Death, Emotional Abuse, Expensive Conditioner, Kinda Murder, Memories, Physical Abuse, Please Don't Read If You Aren't Comfortable With All That, Toxic Relationship, slut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 16:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13744452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: Lafayette knew, John would insist. Lafayette approved. Lafayette wanted him to use his time this way, though John never seemed as pleased with the situations he forced Alexander into.“I can’t believe I’m wasting my time on a pathetic little slut like you,” John remarked, as though the reality of his situation had only just set in.





	Lavender and Vanilla and Copper

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU'VE READ THE TAGS!!!!
> 
> I know that this is a little dumb, but I really don't want anyone to be hurt by reading this fic, so please read all the tags, and if that's something you aren't comfortable with, please find something else.
> 
> Everyone else, please enjoy!

Lafayette must have already known about what happened while he was away. A year-long trip for his foreign work and family matters- to tie up loose ends, he’d explained it. It would only be a year, just twelve months, and though he’d be unable to call, they could still text whenever they pleased. It had been so much time away, each minute seeming as though it were a century, but John knew how to make it pass more quickly, at least for him.

Lafayette knew, John would insist. Lafayette approved. Lafayette wanted him to use his time this way, though John never seemed as pleased with the situations he forced Alexander into.

“I can’t believe I’m wasting my time on a pathetic little slut like you,” John remarked, as though the reality of his situation had only just set in. The ball of his foot weighed down heavy on Alexander’s throat, spasming in desperate reaches for breath that refused to enter his lungs, with the tip of his shoe smearing dirt on the man’s chin. Alexander’s hands balled into fists and let go over and go, doing his best to be good, to not break free from John’s grip, to do what a good slut could do.

He was just a slut.

But at the very least, he could be a good slut. All he had to do was keep his eyes open, focus on the man towering over him, keep holding back screams that so fiercely clawed at his heart. How long had it last been since those claws had been inside his mind, aching for escape, pleading to be written onto paper, typed onto a screen, published for the world to see? Such thoughts were for a time when his vision wasn’t hazy near the edges, and tears of agony did not flood him, held in only by the tattered shreds of his pride.

“Pathetic little sluts don’t get to decide what they do, do they?” John asked, his voice taunting to the core, sending electricity through Alexander’s body. This was how he could prove himself, John had asked, he could respond, his words would be listened to. Anything he said could be heard, what he wanted so desperately to speak would cause action from the man he loved. Because he loved John. He loved John. He loved John. He loved John. John must have loved him back, since he released the pressure on Alexander’s body, his foot still hovering over the now-reddened flesh. How he longed for the days that he ached for such touch. Days and nights when their bodies fell together and Lafayette ruled over than with a kind smile and tight bindings.

Why did it have to hurt so badly while Lafayette was away? He had a question to answer, and he wouldn’t waste time on it like he had with stupid little things about time and how long he’d been in positions and why couldn’t he say red when he didn’t want to-

“No,” Alexander whispered, voice hoarse and strained as he held back a million other thoughts. He could do this one thing, he could shut everything else out. He could focus on John, what John wanted, what John needed him to do, needed him to say. That was easy. Only dumb sluts aren’t able to answer when better people ask them things. “No, we don’t, sir.”

Sir, not John. The man had made it very clear since the beginning that Alexander didn’t deserve to use that name. Sure, when they were in public, or when they were with others, Alex got to use the name. The way it rolled off the tongue, how it flew through the air so swiftly was almost addicting. Good sluts kept their needs to themselves, though, so good sluts said ‘sir’.

“So if I asked you, ‘Alexander, did you remember to get groceries after work?’, how would you respond?” John asked, eyes narrowed in preparation for a wrong answer that was unlikely to come, after how well he’d trained his slut. 

“I would say yes, sir, and I would remember to refer to you in the way you have taught me to,” Alexander replied softly, shame filling his tone as he remembered his earlier actions and cast his gaze aside, focus falling on the wood paneled floor of their apartment. His gaze was quickly shifted, however, when John leaned down and tightly grabbed Alexander by the chin, forcing him to make eye contact. Eyes flooded with unshed tears met those surrounded by starlight, and for a singular moment, perhaps three-quarters of a second or so, Alexander almost had hope.

Almost having hope is different from having hope, as many people can tell you. Such a fact is easily learned, by some in childhood, others in teenage years, and even more in adulthood. To stop someone on the street and ask them to explain the difference is not a difficult task. However, none can clearly explain it to another person. Each bit of hope one gains through their lifetime is attached to a particular moment, and no two people have ever had the same moment, not even those who are skilled at lying to themselves.

To Alexander, the difference laid in John’s actions after grabbing his face. 

He almost hoped that he would be able to relive some of his sweeter memories. Stolen moments between the two of them, trading kisses in the dark with half-spoken secrets, words meant to be heard only by the two of them. John would run his hand along Alexander’s cheek, kissing his way up the man’s jaw before stopping with his lips mere inches apart from Alexander's own. They would gaze into each other’s eyes, nothingness being stretched into an eternity that Alexander could no longer find. And then John would lean forward and kiss Alexander, and then they’d be together, and then the world would stop just for them.

And then there was silence, before the sharp ringing of a slap against Alexander’s cheek rang out in their room, John standing up fully over him. Three-quarters of a second isn’t that long, after all, and Alexander had wasted it focusing on whatever semblance of hope he had left inside himself.

“And let that be a lesson to you.”

Then John left, footsteps echoing as he walked out of the bedroom and retreated to the kitchen, most likely to heat up some food for dinner that Alexander had been too preoccupied to actually make.

Knowing that joining him so soon was sure to cause a worse punishment later that night, Alexander took his time in recovering, not even full enough with thought to remember to grab a towel before heading to the shower. Dried blood wasn’t the easiest to wash off, so he might as well take care of it now. The sting of hot water would have stung his wounds, but that didn’t particularly matter, anyways.

John had made it very clear that sluts didn’t deserve to use up hot water for themselves, so instead, once Alexander had made it to the bathroom, he turned the knob just far enough to keep the water at an icy temperature. He slid off the boxers he’d been wearing for his punishment, well-used enough not to care about bloodstains, and stepped under the spray, flinching at the cold. Not strong enough to lift his arms and wrap them around his torso, he instead leaned against the side of the shower, sliding down onto the shower floor, tile not quite as cold as the water above him. 

What seemed like arctic runoff spilled over his shoulders, drenching his hair, and Alexander couldn’t bring himself to so much as glance at the water ran red and half-diluted crimson flowed around his body. Without so much as opening his eyes a crack, he reached over to the corner and took the small violet bottle into his hands, pulling it into his grasp and running his fingertips along the ridges of the bottle. Well-memorized, after all this time, and yet, when he flipped the lid and took a whiff, it was like home again.

The scent of lavender and vanilla flooded his senses, however strangely numb they and his legs might have felt in that moment. He knew better than to waste it, having been informed such a thing by Lafayette many a time after their more intense scenes together.

‘This is my special imported hair conditioner,’ Lafayette would tell him, pouring a bit into his hands and working the substance into his dark locks, smiling as Alexander leaned into the touch. ‘And you, mon chou, are so perfect that I would gladly use all of it on you. Look at you, aren’t you gorgeous?’

But Lafayette was away, wasn’t he? So even though Alexander knew how bad it meant he was being, he poured just the slightest bit into his hands and set the bottle down. Keeping his eyes closed -not like he even felt the need to, since the weight on them seemed so extensive, as did the sensation of lead-filled arms- he gently worked the soap into his hair, sighing in relief as he could almost feel soft hands on him. Reassuring words could wrap into his mind, soothing the ache in his bones and shame deep in his soul from earlier. Alexander was good at pretending that he wasn’t a slut, so maybe he could be good at pretending that Lafayette was home, too.

Ice cold had somehow shifted to a fuzzy kind of warmth, akin to being held in someone’s arms, and as soon as Alexander realized it, his eyes hot open to look at the shower knob. If John saw the steam from the warm shower, he would get mad, and if John was mad then Alexander would get punished and he had just proved that he could be good and-

And when had the water below his gotten so red that it didn’t even look like water anymore? The faucet was still stuck at cold, and there was no steam in the air, just the heavy scent of...copper. Yet Alexander felt as tired as a warm shower would have made him, so he laid down in the mess of crimson, cheek feeling wet but still dry as he closed his eyes once more.

John didn’t find him like that, without breath in his lungs or heat on his body.

After all, when Lafayette had gotten home early to surprise his lovers, he was the one who’d wanted to take a shower.

The bathroom smelled like lavender and vanilla and copper.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider commenting or leaving kudos!


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